A wee bit more. If you hate it, I’ll stop.

She hears breathing around the corner, musty and subdued. He’s waiting for her. Despite her anger, she is impressed. They have finally learned not to underestimate her. She wonders what the green tags are thinking right now, up there in their safe little offices. Never mind that now. The focus is escape, something made difficult by the hidden goon around the corner. Her eyes scan the ceiling. No, vents never work. Something more sophisticated. She feels her own pistol safe against her chest and has a thought. Silently, she traces her steps back to the body. The bleeding had stopped and the skull is dented in where the metal pole had made contact. A simple crutch. Unlike his cohorts, he had never seen it coming. She leans over the corpse, which is now cold, and slowly undoes the collared shirt. He hadn’t even bothered to wear a tie. Whatever would the wife say?